


And Secrets to Keep

by skieswideopen



Category: Fringe, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/pseuds/skieswideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"So who are Agents Tall and Taller?" Lincoln asked as they left the house.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"I don't know," Olivia said, "but they have a habit of turning up at our crime scenes. Especially the ones that make the news."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Secrets to Keep

The house was located in the middle of a quiet residential street, flanked on either side by nearly identical houses with nearly identical postage stamp lawns. Despite the warm autumn weather, the street was deserted. The only signs of life were the swarm of police and FBI agents coming and going from the little grey house, and flickers of movement in neighbouring windows. 

Lincoln parked behind the line of police cruisers and paused to fish his credentials out of his pocket before grabbing the coffee from the holder and stepping out into the bright afternoon sun. He was conscious of being watched through parted curtains and raised blinds as he ducked under the yellow police tape and headed past a forlorn-looking "for sale" sign and a slightly overrun garden into the house itself.

He found Olivia in the master bedroom. She was crouched in the doorway of the walk-in closet, attention focused on whatever lay inside. She stood up and turned as he approached, nodding a greeting. 

He held out a cup of coffee. "Lots of interest out there."

She accepted the cup, smiling wryly. "I noticed. What do you want to bet that not one of them saw anything useful?"

"I don't think I'll take that bet." He tilted his head toward the closet. "What do we have?"

"Doctor Ava Milani, thirty-seven," Olivia said, stepping aside to give him access. Lincoln slipped past her and into the closet.

Ava Milani's body was sprawled on the floor in a manner that spoke of quick, careless concealment. Lincoln knelt down next to it and studied the still figure, trying to see past the unnatural angle of the neck and the eerily translucent skin to the person she had been. 

Angular features. Long, slender hands. Dark hair gathered in a severe bun, and then pulled loose again, presumably in the struggle that had led to her death. There was nothing at all to suggest why a shapeshifter had chosen her. If, in fact, Ava Milani had been anything other than a target of convenience.

Lincoln looked up at Olivia. "What kind of doctor was she?"

"Chemist," Olivia replied promptly. "She worked for Massive Dynamic."

Which was one strike against this being a random attack. "Married?"

Olivia nodded. "With three kids. Her wife's name is Elena Greco."

His heart sank. "Three kids," he repeated quietly. He glanced down at her again. "And none of them will ever know what happened to her." He knew he was letting bitterness creep into his tone, but he couldn't help himself. It was unthinkable, to leave a woman and three children forever thinking they'd been abandoned, wondering if their loved one had left voluntarily, worrying that they'd done something to drive her away. And yet he'd agreed to this. Had made himself part of the cover-up when he'd signed those papers and joined Fringe Division. And the worst part was that he understood why they'd chosen to do things this way. He'd seen what they were hiding, and he couldn't begin to imagine what might happen if it were made public.

Understanding, however, didn't stop him from resenting the necessity of it. 

Lincoln gave the body one last look and rose to his feet, then looked down again as something caught his attention. 

"Where's her wedding band?"

"Well, that's the interesting thing," Olivia said. Her expression suggested she'd been holding back the best for last. "We think the shapeshifter took it."

A shapeshifter stealing jewelry...that was a first. "Why?"

"According to the medical examiner, Ava Milani has been dead for at least three days, but neither her wife nor Massive Dynamic reported her missing. In fact, her boss at Massive Dynamic says she was at work yesterday."

Lincoln felt a flutter of excitement, one he could see mirrored in Olivia's face. This was the real beginning of the chase--the start of a trail that, if carefully followed, lead them somewhere at last. Perhaps even to an explanation for the presence of the shapeshifters, or to the identity of the person ultimately responsible for Robert's death. He gave voice to the obvious question. "Why is a shapeshifter putting in time at the office?"

Olivia's answering smile was all edges. "Let's go talk to the wife and see if we can find out."

***

Elena Greco opened the door before they had time to ring the bell. She looked disappointed when she saw them, but the disappointment was replaced by hope--and a touch of dread--when she saw their badges. 

"Did you find Ava?" she asked as soon as they were inside.

"Find her?" Olivia said. She cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't you looking for her?" Elena asked. "She didn't come home last night and then those agents came by this morning, and I thought--"

"What agents?" Olivia interrupted.

"Agents Jones and Wood," Elena said. "They came by this morning, asking about Ava. 'Has she been acting strangely?' 'Where might she have gone?' I thought they were here because Massive Dynamic reported her missing."

"Jones and Wood," Olivia repeated thoughtfully. "Can you describe these agents?"

Elena looked confused. "Uh, male. White. Clean cut. Suits. Badges. Shiny shoes. You know. They looked like FBI agents." She looked from Olivia to Lincoln and back again, realization spreading across her face. "Are you saying they weren't FBI agents?"

"Did you notice anything else about them?" Olivia asked. "Tall, short, thin, athletic? Any distinguishing marks?"

"Athletic. And they were both pretty tall," Elena said, "but one of them was especially tall. He must have been almost six-and-a-half feet. Made his partner look short, and I don't think he was less than six feet." Her gaze sharpened. "What's going on?"

Lincoln wondered the same thing. He was fairly certain he hadn't read anything about an Agent Jones or Wood in the Fringe case files.

"Nothing," Olivia said with a reassuring smile. "Just internal miscommunication. One of the side effects of bureaucracy. Would you mind repeating for us what you told Agents Jones and Wood?"

Elena frowned, then shrugged, concern for her wife apparently winning out over her suspicions. "It started on Tuesday. Ava usually tries to come home early on Tuesdays so that she can take Sarah to gymnastics, but this week she didn't get home until almost nine, and then she didn't say a word to me or the girls. She just went straight to her office, and she...I don't know. She tore it apart. Like she was looking for something. After that she left and didn't come home until three am. And since then, she's barely been around. She's always out--I assumed she was at work. Until last night, when she didn't come home at all."

Behind Olivia, Lincoln pulled out his notebook and tried to unobtrusively record what Elena was saying.

"Has Ava done anything else that struck you as unusual?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know," Elena said. "Maybe. She's been around so little that it's hard to tell."

Olivia nodded. "Can you think of anywhere else she might have gone?"

"Just the places I told the other agents," Elena said. "Work. Her parents' house. Her office at City College."

"City College?"

"She teaches a course there. She keeps an office to meet with students."

"Just an office?" Olivia said. "Not a lab?"

"Yes. She does all of her scientific work at Massive Dynamic."

"Okay, thank you," Olivia said. She gave Elena her card. "If you think of anything else, please let me know."

"Do you think she's okay?" Elena asked, twisting the card in her hand.

Olivia's voice was gentle. "We'll keep looking for her."

Lincoln wondered if that line was as hard for her to say as it was for him to hear.

***

"So who are Agents Tall and Taller?" Lincoln asked in a low voice as they left the house.

"I don't know," Olivia said, "but they have a habit of turning up at our crime scenes. Especially the ones that make the news."

"So what? They're some sort of Fringe event chasers? Or do you think they're actually _causing_ the events? Working with the shapeshifters or something?"

"We're not sure," Olivia said, "but I'd guess the former. Mostly because of the news angle. I think that's how they're finding out about things."

"I don't recall Doctor Milani's non-disappearance making the news," Lincoln said dryly.

"Maybe they have a contact in Massive Dynamic," Olivia said. "Someone who noticed that Doctor Milani was acting strangely and called them in."

"So you've never asked them what they're doing?"

"They always seem to slip away before we can find them."

Lincoln grinned. "You're saying these guys have managed to evade the FBI's best and brightest? Multiple times?"

Olivia shot him a look of annoyance. "We usually have more pressing concerns." She stopped beside her car. "Do you want to take City College while I talk to Massive Dynamic?"

"Sure. Meet back for dinner?"

"Working dinner," she agreed. "Let's try and get this shapeshifter before it finds whatever it is that it's after."

***

It only took Lincoln a few minutes to search Ava's office. The very helpful department chair had told him the same thing Elena had--that Doctor Milani only used the office a couple of times to week to meet with students--and the room supported that. A quick perusal of her desk and shelves netted him nothing more than a handful of reference book, a few spare cables, and a stack of ungraded papers. A more thorough search failed to turn up any secret compartments, hidden flash drives, or lab experiments stolen from Massive Dynamic.

He was preparing to leave when he heard a quiet scratching at the door. He drew his gun and moved to the side of the room, hoping that he wasn't about to terrify some poor teaching assistant come to grade those papers. 

His concerns were allayed when the door opened to reveal two figures in suits.

"Freeze," Lincoln ordered sharply. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

The men halted, hands in the air. Agents Tall and Taller, Lincoln thought as he took in their heights and attire. His mouth quirked in amusement as he realized he'd succeeded where the rest of Fringe Division had failed. Although a little back-up wouldn't have hurt. "Turn around slowly," he said.

The two men turned, and Lincoln's eyes widened in shocked recognition. He looked older now, and tired, but...

"Dean?"

For a moment, Dean looked as surprised as Lincoln felt, but he recovered quickly. "Hey. It's been a long time." 

"Yeah," Lincoln said. He let out a slow breath. "Yeah, it has."

Dean's gaze fell to the gun. "You know, you don't really need that."

"I think maybe I do. At least until I know what you're doing here."

"We could ask you the same thing," the taller guy said. He looked over at Dean. "You know this guy?"

Lincoln held up his credentials. "Special Agent Lincoln Lee." The credentials went back in his pocket. The gun stayed where it was. "What are you doing here, Dean?"

Dean looked over at Ava's desk. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said we were here to pick up those papers to grade?"

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if I didn't know the two of you were at her home this morning posing as FBI agents. Which is a crime, by the way."

"How exactly do you two know each other?" Dean's companion asked.

"College," Dean said.

The guy blinked. "Dean, you didn't go to college."

Dean grinned. "No, but I went to college parties," he said. "Sam, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, my brother Sam."

"You met at a party?" Sam said. He looked at Lincoln and then back at Dean. "The only reason you'd go to a college party is...wait, are you saying you and he…?"

Dean shrugged sheepishly.

"Seriously, Dean? An _FBI agent_? And since when do you--"

"He wasn't an FBI agent then!"

Lincoln sighed. "Are you two going to tell me what you're doing here, or should I just take you into the field office now?"

"It's a long story," Dean said. "Look, something's happened to Doctor Milani, right? That's why you're here? Let me guess...you found her body. Or what's left of it."

"Left of it?" Lincoln said.

"After it was eaten," Dean said. He paused, considering Lincoln's expression. "Or maybe there was just a lot of blood?" he suggested.

This was definitely not what Lincoln had been expecting to hear. "Why would you think she'd been _eaten_?"

"Look, can we at least put our hands down?"

"Yeah, fine." Lincoln holstered his gun. "But I'd really like to know what you think is going on here."

Sam shook his head firmly. "You really don't."

"Trust us on that one," Dean added. "This isn't like before. This is the big leagues. Nightmare material."

Lincoln thought about what he'd seen--and read--through Fringe Division and fought the urge to laugh. "I think I can handle it," he said.

"Like before?" Sam said. "Are you saying you took this guy _hunting_ with you?"

"I didn't invite him," Dean said. "He just happened to be there when I had to take care of something." He turned back to Lincoln. "Look, what we're after doesn't matter anyway. You're saying she wasn't eaten, right? So apparently we were wrong about the whole thing. Let us go and we'll get out of your hair; leave the FBI to handle things. Whatever it is you think you're handling." 

Lincoln knew better than to believe _that_. He started to shake his head. "We--"

"You know me," Dean interrupted. 

"Two weeks isn't exactly--"

"You _know_ me," Dean repeated.

Memories rose unbidden. Lincoln running through the park in the darkness, an invisible phantom dogging his steps, certain that he was going to be tomorrow's headline. And then Dean, coming out of nowhere, wielding a crowbar. Dispersing the...whatever the thing chasing Lincoln had been.

"You know me," Dean said again. "And you need to let us go. We are the only ones who can deal with this."

Lincoln opened his mouth to refuse, but instead said, "I could help."

"You can't," Sam said quietly. Pleadingly.

It was a ridiculous request, of course. There was no ghost, no supernatural monster this time. Lincoln had seen the body; he knew exactly what they were dealing with. Probably better than Dean and Sam did, because whatever secrets they'd managed to delve into, he doubted they knew about the other side.

And yet. There was nothing in the Fringe files to explain what Lincoln had seen that night. He knew because he'd looked.

How many other monsters were out there? And would it really hurt to have other people out there looking for them?

"All right," he said at last. "But I suggest you stay out of our way. If anyone else catches up with you…"

"You won't see us again," Dean promised.

Lincoln wasn't sure whether to hope that was true or not.

***

"There was nothing at her office," he told Olivia over pizza. "It looked like she was hardly ever there." It was technically true-- _nothing_ was not _no one_ \--but Lincoln felt guilty anyway. Frustrating though Fringe Division's policies might be, Olivia wasn't the one to blame for them. And she'd been kind to him after she'd finally accepted that he wasn't going anywhere.

"I didn't get a lot from Massive Dynamic either," she said, picking off a slice of pepperoni. "According to them, Doctor Milani worked in the food sciences division. Apparently she was helping to develop some sort of flavour enhancer. Nothing related to weapons or heavy metals or anything the other side might be interested in. Her co-workers generally agreed with Elena that she's been acting strangely since Wednesday--apparently she's been unusually brusque--but they just assumed she was having problems at home."

"No one asked?"

"I guess not." Olivia popped the last bite of crust into her mouth, studying him. Lincoln met her gaze and wondered what exactly she was looking for. 

"So how are you doing with all of this?" she asked.

"All of what?" 

"You know. Fringe Division. I remember when I first joined. I was just...it took me weeks to adjust." Her accompanying smile was perfect: open, honest, a little self-deprecating. She had to be a fabulous interrogator.

"I don't believe that," he said. "I can't imagine you being anything but calm and collected no matter what the situation."

Her smile widened into something more genuine. "On the outside, maybe."

"But inside you were screaming?"

She laughed. "Maybe not screaming, but it's a lot to take in. I'm just saying, if you ever want to talk about anything…."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. He wondered what she'd say if he came to her one night with his college ghost story. Would she believe him, or would he get the polite smile and a quick call to Doctor Sumner?

"I have people keep an eye on all of Doctor Milani's usual haunts," Olivia said. "Tomorrow I'm thinking we should see if we can get into her files at home. Her work laptop is missing, but maybe she has a computer or at least some notes at home. After that we can head up to her parents' house."

"Sounds good," Lincoln said. He hoped Dean and Sam would have the good sense to stay away. 

***

Lincoln paced around his hotel room for an hour before he finally gave up the fight. Grabbing his jacket, he headed down to the street and picked a direction at random. Thirty minutes of brisk walking found him in front of a promising-looking bar in a neighbourhood that was only slightly questionable--the kind of place he hadn't visited since college. 

He started to head for a table, then changed course when he caught sight of a familiar figure bent low over a drink at the bar.

"You left," Lincoln said, dropping down on the stool next to Dean. 

Dean looked up from his drink in surprise. "You let us go, remember?'

"That's not what I meant," Lincoln said. "That night. You saved my life and took me home, and when I woke up the next day, you were gone. Do you always do the save-and-run routine?"

Dean downed the rest of his drink. "Usually works better that way," he said. "Then I don't have to try to explain what happened." He glanced sideways at Lincoln. "You aren't going to tell me I broke your heart or something, are you? Because dude, it was only a couple of weeks."

"You didn't break my heart," Lincoln said truthfully. "But you did me with a whole shitload of questions."

"Well, a little curiosity is good for the soul." Dean turned on his stool. "Speaking of curiosity, do you want to tell me what exactly the FBI is doing here?"

Lincoln shook his head. "If you start asking me about that, I'm going to have to start asking you about what you and your brother are doing here."

"Fair enough," Dean said. He waved at the bartender, who came over with what Lincoln thought was rather astonishing alacrity for a place like this. 

"What can I get you?" she asked, smiling broadly.

"Same as before," Dean said. He turned to Lincoln. "And--"

"Whatever he's having," Lincoln said.

"Johnny Walker," Dean said. "Neat."

Lincoln nodded, and waited for the bartender to pour their drinks. She was watching Dean expectantly as she set his drink in front of him. He didn't seem to notice, and after a moment she turned away with a disappointed expression. 

"You never said you had a brother," Lincoln said.

"Sam and I weren't exactly on speaking terms back then," Dean said. "What about you? How's your family?"

"The same." Lincoln paused to taste the whiskey, savouring the warmth as he swallowed. "What really happened that night, Dean? What was that thing?" 

"Ghost," Dean said. "Just your standard haunting."

"Standard?" Lincoln said, raising an eyebrow. "Three people died."

"Standard for that kind of ghost."

"And you killed it with a crowbar."

"Nah," Dean said. "The iron just chased it off for a while. I got it the next morning. Salted and burned its bones. That's the only way to get rid of them permanently."

"Right." Well, he'd been looking for something else to think about. He took another drink. "You could have asked me for help, you know."

Dean snorted. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. I don't need help. Not for something like that."

"Since you were a kid?" Lincoln asked.

"Family business."

"You and your brother." And presumably other people too, if they started that young. His parents? Or his father anyway--Lincoln thought Dean had said something about his mother being dead. He wondered suddenly if the "family business" was what had gotten her killed, or if it had been something more mundane. Illness? Car accident? Or a vengeful ghost? Regardless, he couldn't imagine voluntarily dragging a child into that kind of thing. 

"Me and Sam," Dean agreed. He tilted his drink from side to side, watching the whiskey slosh against the glass. "So how's life in the FBI?"

Lincoln shrugged. "About what you'd expect. Long hours. Government wages."

"Sounds exciting."

"It can be."

"At least you've got a good-looking partner."

"Olivia?" Lincoln frowned. "You were spying on us?"

"We ended up in the same place," Dean said, "only you got there first. It happens. So are you and she--"

"No," Lincoln said. "Not at all. We barely know each other. We just started working together. Anyway, the Bureau tends to frown on partners fraternizing like that."

"So it's not because you're in a relationship with someone else or anything," Dean said, glancing down at Lincoln's left hand.

"No," Lincoln said. "I'm not in a relationship." And Dean wasn't being particularly subtle. Then again, subtlety had never been his strong suit.

"What happened to your last partner?" 

"My last partner?"

"You said you just started working with this one."

"Right." _Robert_. "He died. Killed in the line of duty."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "I know what that's like." 

His tone was painfully sincere, and Lincoln wondered how many times Dean had gone through something like that. It couldn't be safe, doing...whatever the hell he did. Looking at him more closely, Lincoln thought he could see fresh grief there too. Something raw. Something he could stand to forget for a night. 

Lincoln finished his drink and set down the glass. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked.

"Thought you'd never ask," Dean said.

***

Lincoln was--unsurprisingly--alone when he woke up. Which was probably just as well, as he'd have had a hard time explaining Dean's presence to Olivia if she'd stopped by. She didn't, however, and he managed to make himself presentable and get down to the lobby by eight. They spent the morning in Ava's home office, scrolling through file after file on the family computer, looking for anything that might tell them why the shapeshifter had picked her.

The call came in around eleven. Olivia hung up from it looking grim. "We need to go," she said, standing up.

"Where are we going?" Lincoln asked in the car.

"The medical examiner's office," she said. "They've just identified another body."

"Another shapeshifter victim?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. Apparently this body belongs to Ava Milani."

"What do you mean? How can there be another…" He trailed off, thinking hard. "Does this body belongs to the shapeshifter?"

"I don't know what else it could be," Olivia said. "Unless Ava Milani has an identical twin her wife forgot to mention."

"How did it die?"

Olivia twisted her head to look at him. Her expression was unreadable. "They say it looks like it was partially eaten."

***

It took Lincoln the better part of the day to find an excuse to leave and track down Dean and Sam's motel. They were packing up their car when he got there. Sam looked like he was ready to hop in the car and take off when Lincoln showed up, but Dean said something to him, and then came over to where Lincoln was watching.

"We found a partially-eaten body," Lincoln said without preamble.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "It's taken care of. Well, as much as we can. I don't think anything else is going to happen around here."

"And that's it."

"That's all we've got," Dean said. "Unless you're looking for a career change, which I don't recommend. Trust me when I say that even government pay is better than what we make."

Lincoln nodded, accepting that that was all he was going to get. For now. "And if I find any more half-eaten bodies?" he asked.

"Probably won't happen," Dean said. "They usually finish the whole thing. But if you do…" He pulled out a piece of paper--gas receipt, Lincoln noted automatically--and scribbled down a number. "Give me a call."

Lincoln took the paper. "I'm in Boston now," he said. "If you're ever there."

Dean flashed him a smile. "I'll remember that." He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was tapping his watch impatiently. "Listen, I've gotta--"

"Yeah," Lincoln said. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe you will," Dean agreed. 

Lincoln stood watching as their car pulled away. He slipped the paper into his wallet, then pulled out his phone and dialed. "Olivia? I'm done. Where are you now?"


End file.
